“Hold, hold on, hold onto me
‘Cause I'm a little unsteady
A little unsteady.”
—X Ambassadors
*Name has been changed for privacy reasons
When it feels too dark to rise, but you gotta get up anyway.
When certain songs make you cry, but you gotta be strong.
When you’re lost and can’t seem to find your way.
When you’re expected to speak but can’t find the words.
When you’re supposed to know what’s next, but you haven’t a clue.
When you try to fall back on what you know, and even that feels unfamiliar.
When you have no idea what the future holds, but people keep asking.
What do you do?
Where do you go from there?
These are the first words of prose I’ve written in seventeen days. They are incomplete. I know. But something important happened since I last wrote to you. And when I think about who I am writing to, I don’t worry so much about what is incomplete. I know you will fill in the blanks and together—together—we will make sense of things.
As I mentioned above, I have not written for seventeen days. This is uncommon for me. Unheard of, really. And a little disconcerting. I’d planned on taking a few days to rest my weary brain after I submitted my third book to my publisher on March 1st. But a few days of respite quickly turned into a week. And even after a week, I couldn’t make sense of the scribbles in my little notebooks that normally become complete sentences and lovely paragraphs in no time.
It felt confusing and scary to not be able to do what comes naturally to me.
I was reminded of how I felt after surgery when I was expected to get up and walk for the first time. My legs didn’t feel like they remembered what to do. They felt weak, uncertain, and unstable.
“Hold on to me,” my nurse instructed. I was afraid I was going to fall, but I held on. I held on with dear life. I begged my legs not to fail me as I stepped away from the security of the bed.
My brain has felt like my surgery legs since I finished my third book: weak, uncertain, and unstable. “What’s the next project?” people are asking. “Shouldn’t you be using your voice to combat all the negativity in the news right now?” people are asking. “Can you give me some ideas to help my child?” people are asking. “Would you mind reading my book? My blog post? My book proposal?” people are asking. “Can you give us a 1000-word article for our publication?” people are asking. Normally, I would consider these requests, respond kindly, and try my best to help others as much as I can.
But I am not normal right now.
I am unsteady right now.
I got that word from a soul-stirring song by the X Ambassadors. I heard it for the first time after dropping off my older daughter at swim practice the other day. The song brought me to my knees. I could not believe these musicians knew exactly how I felt and captured it in a song. I cried because I was no longer alone in my uncertainty and someone else felt shaky too. I cried knowing this word had been given to me to hold on to when I decided to step away from the bed.
That moment came a few days later.
It was an intersection of people that doesn’t happen every day—perhaps once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. It derived from the video of the music therapist bringing memories and movement to elderly people that I’d shared in my last post. The video had touched my musical daughter profoundly, and I’d written about it. Quite remarkably, my blog post showed up in the newsfeed of the music therapist’s wife. She read it and left me a lovely comment. Even more remarkably, her talented husband, John Abel, does his healing and hopeful work within driving distance of our home. I cried tears of joy when John invited Avery and me to participate in one of his music therapy sessions.
Perhaps you agree there are certain invitations that feel like divine invitations and simply cannot be ignored. This particular invitation felt providential and inspired me to face my full inbox, write coherent sentences to John, and agree to driving in unfamiliar territory. On the day of the therapy, I even took a shower, did my hair, and put on something nice. As I was leaving my house to get Avery early from school, I remembered what she said that morning.
“I don’t want to bring my guitar, Mama. I don’t know what to expect and my hands get shaky.”
But for some reason, I ran back inside to get her guitar—just in case.
Greeting us at the door of the retirement center were John the therapist and Mary the director of communications for AG Rhodes Health & Rehab. We sat on the back patio for a few minutes learning what to expect and how to best participate in the session. John told Avery how music therapy is used in many different settings, not just geriatrics. Sensing Avery was an “old soul,” he told her about excellent undergraduate programs in the area for future reference.
We soon headed to the activity room for the hour-long music therapy session. Avery helped pass out tambourines and maracas and smiled enthusiastically as the residents clapped their hands and tapped their feet.
We sang along to favorites like, “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain,” “America the Beautiful,” and “Blueberry Hill.” We encouraged the precious gray-haired ladies who sat beside us and quickly bonded with a dear woman named *Annie. On the last song, “He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands,” Avery retrieved her guitar and strummed along with John.
But it wasn’t until we were preparing to leave that the unforgettable happened. Avery was invited into the cafeteria for cake. A resident noticed the guitar case and asked her to play a song. Without hesitation, Avery got out her guitar and performed “Amazing Grace.” I noticed that as residents and staff workers began to gather, Avery’s voice got stronger. Her smile got wider. And her hands got steadier.
This is the perfect place for Avery to share her musical gift, I thought to myself. She is right where she needs to be, doing exactly what she needs to do.
I filled out a volunteer application and submitted information for a background check so Avery and I could start coming to the nursing home regularly.
“Please come back on Saturday,” the staff members said. “We are having an Easter Egg Hunt for the families of residents and staff, but you are welcome to join us!”
Selfishly, the thought of this outing exhausted me. I felt like I’d showed up enough for one week. Coming back on Saturday would require more showering and more stepping away from the bed with shaky legs.
But on Saturday morning, Avery laid out her favorite spring shirt and asked to go see her “new friends” at the nursing home. “Remember how you said you wished we could take Miss Annie home with us, Mama?” Avery coaxed. “She was so cute! We need to see her soon so she remembers us.”
I could not argue. Avery was right. There was something extra special about that sweet lady I sat next to in the therapy session. Furthermore, I could not decline what felt like another divine invitation.
Upon arrival, we were welcomed by the director and a few staff members who remembered Avery from the other day.
“Where’s Annie?” we asked after surveying the party room and egg hunt grounds and seeing no sign of her.
“Well, she doesn’t have family here, so she is in the cafeteria having lunch. But you can bring her to the egg hunt if you’d like,” the staff member said.
Avery literally jumped into the air with joy. “We can be her family, Mama! Come on! Let’s go get her!”
When we walked into the cafeteria, several residents waved at Avery. It appeared they remembered the curly haired songbird with the 100-watt smile. We found our precious friend Annie and invited her to watch the egg hunt with us.
“Oh yes, I sure would!” she beamed as her hunched back uncurled a little.
The aide told us Annie would need to finish her lunch so we sat with her while she slowly guided her shaky hand to her mouth over and over. We asked her questions we thought she could answer. Unfortunately, she was unable to remember her birthday, her deceased husband’s name, or the name of her roommate, but she knew she loved chocolate and Elvis Presley. She also knew she loved country music and trees that bloomed outside her window.
Not wanting her to feel badly about not remembering, I said, “You have lived a long time, Annie. And you have so much to remember.”
“I have lived a long time. A long, long time,” she agreed and seemed pleased by the acknowledgement.
Finally, we were able to take Annie outside where the colored eggs were scattered in the courtyard. Avery gave Annie a plastic egg, but her unsteady hands had trouble opening it.
“I’ll help you,” I said taking apart the blue egg as she held it.
Annie took one bite of the chocolate found inside the egg and told us how good it tasted. She looked at the flowering trees and the excited children and smiled. She didn’t know us, but she knew she was in loving hands and that made her happy.
When we took Annie to sit in front of the fountain, Avery had a great idea. “Let’s play Annie some Elvis.” Avery used my phone to play the classic love song, “I Can’t Help Falling In Love.”
As soon as the music began to play, Annie took my hand and closed her eyes. She began singing along and knew almost all the lyrics. I looked down and noticed that her shaky hand was steady. And for the first time in weeks, I felt stronger, more certain, and more steady than I had in awhile. The demanding voices pressuring me to write, respond, please, work, solve, predict, create, and produce were silenced.
I am right where I am supposed to be, I thought. This is all I’m supposed to be doing right now: Holding the hand of a precious 79-year-old woman as she listens to Elvis and remembers something lovely from her past.
Love is the only thing required of me right now.
And if love is the only thing I do today, that is enough. It is more than enough.
And through that freeing revelation presented to me in Annie and Avery’s precious hands, I can now complete what was incomplete:
When it feels too dark to rise …
Reach for a hand as you step away from the security of the bed.
When certain songs make you cry …
Let the music give you the missing words and memories to soothe your weary soul.
When you’re lost and can’t find your way …
Be family to someone who has no family.
When you’re expected to speak and can’t find the words …
Just shake the tambourine and smile.
When you’re supposed to know what’s next and haven’t a clue …
Show up; just show up so you don’t miss your divine invitation.
When you try to fall back on what you know and it feels unfamiliar …
Ask a friend to fill in the blanks.
When you have no idea what the future holds …
Go back for the guitar
Say yes to cake
Reach for the closest hand
And hold on,
Just hold on.
It might be an old hand. It might be a young hand. It might even be a furry paw—loving hands can come in all different forms, you know.
Just don’t let the demanding voices in your head pressure you into thinking you must do more than you are called to do right now.
Love
Just love
Love is the only thing required of you today.
Love is the only thing required of me today.
And together, with love, we’ll steady ourselves and step away from the bed with courage.
********************************************
My precious friends of The Hands Free Revolution community, thank you for inspiring me to write down my story. When the wife of the music therapist found me through one of your Facebook shares, it felt like a miracle to our family. Although the words felt jumbled in my brain for many days, I knew I had to share this beautiful connection with you. I feel like there are so many important invitations within this experience. Whether it’s to take time to visit our elderly friends … or to encourage our children to explore and share their inner light with others … or to consider the healing power of music therapy on those with physical, emotional, or mental challenges … or to be assured that loving and nurturing nursing homes do exist, I hope this post speaks to your heart. If it does, I'd love to know. Your comments fuel my writing, and I've missed hearing your stories, struggles, and triumphs over the past few weeks. Please continue scrolling down for important links associated with today's post and information about my upcoming speaking event in Denver, Colorado.
My friends, as Easter approaches, I hope the thought of miracles and divine invitations lift your weary heart this week. May the words I wrote to you today come to mind when you courageously step away from security to face the unknown. Hold onto me. Hold onto me. I love you.
Important links associated with today's post:
• The touching video that led Avery and me to music therapy
• The “Soul Changer” blog post I wrote about Avery’s response to the video
• The American Music Therapy Association (AMTA) has a wealth of information on music therapy and music therapists
• Alive Inside is a beautiful documentary about the Music and Memory iPod program. The video chronicles the astonishing experiences of individuals around the country who have been revitalized through the simple experience of listening to music. The video reveals “the uniquely human connection we find in music and how its healing power can triumph where prescription medication falls short.”
Denver friends, please make plans to come see me! On Saturday, May 14th at 10:00 am, I will be speaking at the Women’s Spring Tea at Denver First Church, 3800 E. Hampden Avenue, Englewood, CO 80113. I cannot wait to meet you and hug you, dear ones in Denver.
Dear Rachel.
Thank you for this, I’m writing in tears because it has hit me so hard. This will be the second Easter without my Mum, she spent her last few years in a retirement residence. We were always there, but there were many that did not have any family. I wish I had it in me to go back there and visit those that need a little joy. I’m not sure I can can do it……..maybe one day.
Andrea
Thanks for showing up and braving the uncertain, both with your daughter at the nursing home and in your writing. Beautiful story wrapped in soulful words and thought. Thank you.
Thank you Rachel. This was exactly what I needed today. My little 3year old is going for surgery today and my mind and heart are unsteady. I now know exactly what is needed of me. Love is all that’s required of me today. I love your posts and know I’m not the only one.
Sending you extra love!
Sending lots of love your way, Molly! I hope everything is okay. (((((Hugs)))))
A grown man is weeping at a dining-room table. He cries often. He feels broken, unsteady. Once so sure, he looks around and wonders – from where does surety flow? He asks why it all seems so unclear; why does every chore, every post, every errand seem so very hard? What is he forgetting?
Hope.
The man is me and you, Rachel, gave my hope back today. Thank you.
Rachel, so good to hear from you. {{{hugs}}}
I can’t even begin to describe how much nodding I was doing as I started to read this post. You had me smiling right off the bat with those song lyrics (it’s on my current playlist already), then I was agreeing, agreeing, agreeing, and when I got to this: “I could not believe these musicians knew exactly how I felt and captured it in a song”, I was pretty much floored. I feel that so often these days, and this song was no exception; the very first time I heard it, I sat down on my kitchen floor in awe, a small smile playing on my lips, slightly shaking my head in wonder, tightly hugging my knees for support.
I love that you and Avery were able to connect with “Miss Annie”, and I love that you have all been able to feel a little less unsteady because of it.
Love you.
I was driving home from a long road trip with my two kids last night and the song Unsteady that you spoke about came on. It was the first time I had heard it and it brought tears to my eyes. My 3 year old daughter has cerebral palsy, and even with braces and interventions, she struggles with balance. She’ll say, “Mama, I’m not steady.” And then this post from you. So timely. I have been following your writing for some time now and I’ve lost count of the times your writing has soothed my soul. I actually have one of your writings printed put and taped to my mirror. The one about… To know you is to wonder…. So thank you.
Rachel you are such an inspiration! I am so grateful for you and your gifts! I had some unexpected surgery last week to remove melanoma from the back of my right hand. Doctors think they got it all in time. My hand is in a sling and not much use for awhile. Of course I am right handed! My Mother has been in long term care with dementia for some time now and music therapy is her favourite time and mine! We have so much to learn about this wretched disease and I am doing my best with courses to help both of us as we journey down this road. Your books and your posts continue to provide great encouragement and wisdom to me and I can’t thank you enough. When you need time, please take it. No guilt or shame required. You are perfect just as you are in Gods eyes. We all need to work at believing this about ourselves and lowering the pressure we apply. Thank you for your words, your honesty and being you!
Crying too hard to write coherently. Thank you.
Yes. This. This is what I have been needing to hear…for so long. Sometimes the jumble in my head, coupled with the voices of those that need me, is overwhelming. This post was my divine appointment this morning. God bless you and your sweet daughters, Rachel!
This was such an inspiring & comforting post. It brought tears to my eyes – well, actually I may or may not have cried like a baby ? Let me just say, it hit home and you are definitely not alone. I love reading your posts and feel like we are kindred spirits in so many ways. I have a daughter who is a”noticer” and has been the biggest blessing in my life as she teaches me to be a better person. I relate to everything you write & just want to thank you for being open and honest with us – you are an encouragement and are using your gift wisely.
Well this made me cry quietly so as not to wake my children laying next to me in the hotel room! Annie breaks my heart, but at the same time fills me with hope. Thanks for being you. ?
My 94 year old grandmother passed away yesterday afternoon, and I have struggled with such mixed emotions…thank you for sharing this story. It couldn’t have come at a better time for me. She, like Annie, had SO many memories.
Oh. My. God. (I NEVER say that lightly )Oh the desperate tears. The soft soothing lilt of hope written on a screen. I’ve snuck away from my desk at work for a moment to read your words. I work for child protective services. I have over 70 cases open right now. I’m not. I’m not a superhero. I’m an exhausted single mom who can’t save the world and can’t get the paperwork done on time. I’m worried and sad. I have so much going on in my own life and I can only try my hardest to do what I can for these kids I work with. I’m overwhelmed by the way God just used you to say the same thing twice. I just listened to your book on my way to work and the last part I heard was “I am precisely where I am supposed to be” then you write this today. This is air in my empty lungs. This is light in a dark place. This. Is hope. I will show up. I will reach for another hand. I will. I will let the music say my lost words.
I am at a place of transition in my life right now. Anxious, wondering if/what I should be doing, or should I wait? Am I doing enough? What do I do next… and then I read these words:
“Love is the only thing required of me right now. And if love is the only thing I do today, that is enough. It is more than enough. ” and I started to cry out of sheer gratitude for the message. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you for these beautiful and needed words today. Only love today.
Simply Beautiful Rachel. Thank-you for taking time to rest & reflect, so you could come back to us with more inspired and hopeful messages. You are truly an inspiration. Forever grateful for the gifts your writing brings to each of us….sending much love.
Oh, Rachel. You. just. know… What a blessing you are to me. I’ve been struggling for far too long. It’s so difficult to go on some days. Thank you for helping me and reminding me to hold on. I can do it. The feelings of pressure to “do” something can get overwhelming at times. Just know that I love you for the beautiful messages you share. Thank you so very much.
Thank you. I have been frozen in fear for weeks. The last few years have devastated me. So many traumas and let downs and epic failures, I have been standing lonely and heartbroken in place barely breathing for weeks. Somehow you showed up this morning and gave me a little reprieve from my hopelessness. This morning I listened to the “Happiness” podcast with Gretchen Ruben. It was the episode about identifying your “spiritual master”. Check it out, I think you are mine. ?
It sounds as if you were overloaded with writing and “performing” for others as you finished your most recent book. It is only natural (to use your phrase) that you need a little down time to restore yourself mentally, physically and emotionally. Seventeen days may have seemed like a very long time to you, but maybe it was just the right amount of time. You found restoration in being selfless and connecting with others through love. Not a bad vacation to take if you ask me!
I love your posts. They always come at the “right” time. Hope you feel better soon.
Thank you. You blog spoke to me in many ways today. I wept as I read it and watched the video. My 78 year old mom has late stage Alzheimer’s and lives in a board and care home. Listening to Bocelli calms her and brings a smile to her face. I needed a pick me up today.I almost did not get out of bed today, but got my kids to school then came back home instead of proceeding with my to do list. After reading your article I feel ready to face my day with the realization that it’s ok to just “be” today. Maybe it will open the door to an invitation…
Hello Rachel,
I do not know how you do it but you get me EVERY time. You speak to my soul! I love the X Ambassadors and know the song you are referring to. It speaks to me too.
Thank you for sharing all that you share and for your writing skill. You have a way to touch people and draw people in with your writing style. I feel like you are friend and speaking directly to me at times. 🙂 Just…Thank you!
Wow, how inspiring. But you forgot one thing! “I feel like there are so many important invitations within this experience.” The important invitation to be brave. Put yourself out there. Be brave enough to not need to be connected to anywhere but where you actually are. You are brave to allow us to read about your feelings, your life. You put yourself out there and encourage others to do the same; for love’s sake. None of these connections would have happened had you not been brave enough to step out in the first place. Way to go! You’ve inspired me today and countless others. Thank you.
Oh Sarah, thank you for that. I didn’t even think of that, but it brings such joy to my heart to know that you did. I feel so safe with this community — putting myself out there has become a way of life here in this space. When I think about people from outside the community reading my posts, that is when I feel vulnerable. The beautiful comments & heartfelt stories readers have shared today have really lifted me up. Thank you, friend.
Beautiful share. Thank you.
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this post Rachel!
Thank you for inspiring us all to hang in there even on days that feel rough and to remember we all have a unique space in this world. I truly believe that God has a unique plan for each & every one of us.
***Thank you!***
My dad spent the last few months of his life in our local nursing home. I was there to see him every day, sometimes several times a day. When his time finally came, both my sister and I were there holding his hand. It was a beautiful experience.
For a number of years now, our church choir has been going to this same nursing home on the first Sunday of each month following our regular service. It was hard to go back that first Sunday after Dad’s passing, but I knew it was something I needed to do. We sing the songs we’ve just sung in church along with the old hymns that the residents know so well, always closing with Jesus Loves Me. It is amazing to see most of the residents singing the words along with us, if not audibly, then just moving their lips to the familiar words.
A lady who always attended our church was then a resident of this nursing home. Following the singing of Jesus Loves Me, we always walked down the hall to sing a few songs to her, as being over 100 years old she was confined to her bed. As we headed down the hall to her room, I realized this meant I would be passing Dad’s now empty room. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized what was coming and wondered if I could do this. As we started down the hall, a caregiver told us that Lottie had been moved from the room at the end of the hall to a room closer to the nurses station so that they could hear her if she called out to them. This meant we wouldn’t be passing Dad’s empty room. I think God knew I wasn’t ready to take that step yet and had her moved closer.
It’s been eight years now since Dad’s passing, we continue to go to the nursing home to sing every month, and I’ve made numerous trips there to visit with other residents I learned to know and love while Dad was there. In fact, a couple weeks ago, my husband and I went to sing Happy Birthday to another long time church member. Being there reminds me of Dad’s time there, but it is comforting to go and share the gift of music with others. I think God for this opportunity.
I hope you and your daughter will continue to go and share music with the residents. You already have realized what a blessing this can and will be. God bless you both.
Take care,
Mary Sue
What an expiring post(as it always is), song, and video. I have a feeling that song will be played many of places now.
Thank you:)
Lacey
Rachael, as I lay here crying from your words – I just want to thank you for always “knowing”. I hang on, I choose love, and I am enough – exactly as I am. Thank you for being a soul sister I have not met yet, and someone who inspires me continually.
Thank you for being my Divine Intervention and reminding me it is okay to simply be “me”.
Always, Robin
And Avery can be an Occupational Therapist, if that’s something that works better when the time comes for a decision. My daughter finished her OT degree last May:-)
LOVE your writing, and was so excited to see your blog post notification come through my email! Thank you for another incredibly beautiful, eye opening writing! I cannot wait to read your book!! And I’ll be visiting my Grandma at her nursing home again this weekend thanks to this post 🙂 The music therapy sounds incredible too. I will have to ask if that is available in my Grandma’s nursing home.
Rachel, as always your words struck a chord (excuse the pun!). I’ve missed the time not reading your posts and so pleased to read and relate to what you gave just written. Thanks for fixing such meaningful and life changing words. Stay strong.
Rachel…I relate to you on so many levels. I have taken the last year plus “off” of my regular job (teaching), to spend more time being present at home, to being a wife and mom, something I have felt led to do for a long time….but was afraid to listen to that voice inside me. While it is somewhat scary, as I don’t know what the future holds for me professionally – I have let go of a very good self made tutoring business – I do feel I am where I am supposed to be right now. And the challenge for me is to stop looking for the next thing – to stop thinking about going back to working, to just live in the moment and be content. I have prayed for God to lead me in the right direction, to show me when it is time, and that hasn’t come yet – and sometimes I get impatient and think I should be doing more, I start the comparisons. But…I am waiting, and I am living and enjoying the space I am in right now – right where I am supposed to be. Thank you for helping me to feel good about my decision, to feel confident and feel understood.
Rachel:
Thank you so much for this post. I too am feeling shaky right now . I realized yesterday where my procrastination & scary thought a were coming from…I’m letting go of my old story of there being something wrong with me & not being able to trust my own knowing. It’s a very old story that was meant to keep me safe in some dysfunctional way . I think I am starting to truly let it go & the discomfort & pain that comes with that release is what I imagine the caterpillar feels inside its chrysalis. Your post spoke to my heart & yes, I do have tears streaming down my face! Just thank you! We never know whose life we might change. You are so right, just show up!?✨
Thank you for this post Rachel; I appreciate your words each and every time I read them. Today I had a medical procedure done that was extremely painful. After a minute or so into the procedure the doctor’s nurse looked over and asked if I would like her to hold my hand. The act of her holding my hand was such a gift. This simple act helped me to get through the procedure, but more importantly I felt cared for. I don’t know if she will ever realize how much this meant to me, but I know I will be sure to reach out my hand to another in need.
Thank you. I almost didnt read your post. My feelings and emotions are so close to the surface,and so raw that I didn’t know if I could read something that might make my feelings even more tender today. But I did. And Im glad. You inspire me and I love you and your family. Weve never met, likely never will. But I love you just the same as I feel your spirit, and witness your goodness. I am in transition in many areas of my life. I struggle with feelings of loneliness, failure, and long to be at the other end of this trial. I want ypu
Thank you so much
Thank you, just, thank you.
That sweet little old lady must have felt so blessed to have you and Avery there with her that day! I hope you get to go back. Thank you for sharing, you’ve been such a blessing to my own family as well.
Thank you, Lorene. We are going back on Saturday to see her & bringing a few goodies with us! Thank you for taking the time to let me know how my writing has blessed you. It means everything to me.
I just finished reading Hands Free Life yesterday and could so relate your story about Natalie to my daughter who is 14. She is tenderhearted and doesn’t need to be toughened up either. After I read this post, I shared it with her because her is also a lover of music and old people. She has a community service project for school that she is just starting and will be going to do crafts and play the piano for the residents of a home each week. I knew this post would inspire her and it did. Thank you for sharing your heart.
Thank you for writing and sharing your beautiful story, I read your work regularly and it always moves me and helps me get through difficult days. Thank you so much for all that you do xxx
This was beautiful. It takes me back to my weekly visits to my gram at the nursing home. Thankfully she was only there for 6 months, but during that time she experienced these types of programs. And loved them. My heart always ached for the residents that had no family visitors.
As I reflect on this story, through my tears, I am reminded of my father. He died from Alheimers complications.. My children have one memory of him, at Easter in the nursing home. So many memories are flooding my mind, but most important are the touchstones you mentioned.
It is so important to treat the elderly with dignity. That is what you have done with “Annie”. Finding a way to connect with her, giving her relevance and a moment of being connected. That is a gift! A gift you have given your daughter. As a mother in this life we can only hope to teach our child compassion, you have done that with grace. It is evident you are proud of your daughters talent, and soul. You should be proud, because her talent and grace is your example shining through.
Thank you, dear Maura. I am grateful to know the connection your heart and mind felt to this story. I cherish the kind words you said about my daughter and me. It means so much to me.
Thank you.
Thank you for sharing. The few moments I allow myself to read your words, I feel so grounded, comforted, hopeful. You are doing great things, touching lives. You are appreciated, valued, treasured even. I don’t allow myself the luxury of reading all of your posts, but the ones I do are so important. Thank you. I wish you all the best and more.
So beautiful and wise. Thank-you for this!
“The demanding voices”, “the pressure to … please” – these have been riding me. Leaving me feeling unsteady at all times, and crushed under their burden at other times. Instead of reaching out for a hand to help me, I have lashed out in my pain, shutting my loved ones out. Thank you for telling your truth so I can be reminded of mine. Truly, if I open myself to love, to reach out in trust, the line I can give will actually be enough. To trust that “I” will be enough! I read your posts because you are that hand that pulls me up when I don’t think I can stand any more. Thank you for steadying me.
Thank you, Liz. I understand and relate to every beautiful word you have written. I am touched deeply to know my words “pull you up” when you need strength. You just reminded me of my purpose and that fuels me like nothing else. So grateful for you.
❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for sharing your tender moments.
Ahhh… so needed this. I’m still trying to pick up the pieces of loss….. “Just don’t let the demanding voices in your head pressure you into thinking you must do more than you are called to do right now.”
Thank you for being a blessing just as you are!
I loved Alive Inside—even wrote a post just about it. Maybe you and Avery can make Annie a ipod music tape of Elvis and other country songs from her past.
The song, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” was the first dance song at my wedding (11 years ago). The only request I had was that we play the Bob Dylan version, not Elvis…ha!
I needed to shed a few tears of joy today… thanks!
Oh my, oh my, oh my!!! I am literally jumping for joy. I have prayed on and off since reading Hands Free Mama in 2014 that you would come to Denver! I greatly appreciate your honest post today and that x ambassadors song brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it. Stand strong in your love, listen to your intuition and continue to be true to you. See you in May!!!!! Hugs!
YAY! YAY! YAY! I cannot WAIT to meet you, Melissa! What an important source of love & support you are in my life & it will be an honor to thank you in person!!! Thank you for letting me know!
Beautiful as always, Rachel. I’m on shaky legs this week too, so this spoke right to my heart. Thank you for being brave enough to tell your stories and keep showing up with love. It makes a difference.
I loved this. As a former nursing home nurse, you don’t know how much you’re presence makes a difference. My daughter, also, loves to go to the nursing home and sing while my mother in law plays the piano. I have people I don’t even know compliment my daughter. My mother in law once told my daughter, “You may be young, but you have a gift. Don’t hide your gift behind fear.” Thing is, my daughter is only 4. Like yours, she is still very shy and unsure. She doesn’t even know how great her talent is yet. *hugs
Rachel, this brought tears to my eyes. Thank you once again for reaching out to my soul. For words of healing and hope.
I love that Avery and you are enjoying your time with the residents. What a beautiful gift for all of you. How absolutely fabulous that Avery can bring soothing beautiful music to lift their spirits. I love it!! Rachel, it seems the words have come back to you. 🙂
This is awesome! My Mom is in an assisted living facility. I have to tell you that most days the brightest parts of the day come when people visit, especially children and dogs. And music just seems to be something that each of them can always find a way to express feelings. I have seen some of the most physically disabled residents get a little beat going when those familiar tunes are heard. ❤️ This is such a great thing you and your daughter are doing, and it sounds as if it has been equally as rewarding for the two of you! Enjoy!
You are such an inspiration!! This story brings me to tears. Thank you for sharing your love and courage.
Thank you for your kindness.
Thank you for beautiful, inspiring writing. You make a difference to my life. I pray that you will be well and refreshed so that you can do the work that God has for you; no more, no less.
Thank you, so much. I cherish your kind words, prayers, & well wishes, Erica.
I love that you shared about Music Therapy. It was a transformational experience for my son Ethan when he was sick in the hospital, especially the last year of his life. Music was always his first love. But when he was in the hospital, it was his lifeline. It gave him a break from his illness, from the owes, from the isolation of living in a hospital. Music is so healing. It impacted our family so much that we support it for children in patient with congenital heart disease through the foundation that now carries my son’s name – Ethan Lindberg Foundation.
Music is a connector, a healer, a gift. Thank you for sharing,
This post speaks to my heart. And something deep within, along with your beautiful voice requesting to know if it does – told me to offer these words to you tonight – almost four years after the original post. I love this song, your story, and this message. Holding onto it tonight. XOXO